AS DESPATCH-BEARER IN WAR-TIME 1855 475 



Few evenings linger more pleasantly in my memory 

 than that on which I arrived in Breslau. I was once more 

 outside of the Russian Empire; and, as I settled for the 

 evening before a kindly fire upon a cheerful hearth, there 

 rose under my windows, from a rollicking band of univer 

 sity students, the &quot; Gaudeamus igitur. I seemed to have 

 arrived in another world a world which held home and 

 friends. Then, as never before, I realized the feeling 

 which the Marquis de Custine had revealed, to the amuse 

 ment of Europe and the disgust of the Emperor Nicholas, 

 nearly twenty years before. The brilliant marquis, on his 

 way to St. Petersburg, had stopped at Stettin; and, on 

 his leaving the inn to take ship for Cronstadt next day, the 

 innkeeper said to him: &quot;Well, you are going into a very 

 bad country.&quot; &quot;How so?&quot; said De Custine; &quot;when 

 did you travel there?&quot; &quot;Never,&quot; answered the inn 

 keeper; &quot;but I have kept this inn for many years. All 

 the leading Russians, going and coming by sea, have 

 stopped with me; and I have always noticed that those 

 coming from Russia are very glad, and those returning 

 very sad.&quot; 



Throughout the remainder of my journey across the 

 Continent, considerable attention was shown me at vari 

 ous stopping-places, since travelers from within the Rus 

 sian lines at that time were rare indeed; but there was 

 nothing worthy of note until my arrival at Strasburg. 

 There, in the railway station, I was presented by a young 

 Austrian nobleman to an American lady who was going 

 on to Paris accompanied by her son ; and, as she was very 

 agreeable, I was glad when we all found ourselves together 

 in the same railway compartment. 



Some time after leaving Strasburg she said to me: &quot;I 

 don t think you caught my name at the station.&quot; To 

 this I frankly replied that I had not. She then repeated it ; 

 and I found her to be a distinguished leader in New York 

 and Parisian society, the wife of an American widely 

 known. As we rolled on toward Paris, I became vaguely 

 aware that there was some trouble in our compartment; 

 but, being occupied with a book, I paid little attention to 



